


Would Your Angels Even Give a Damn

by The3rdTrumpeteer



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Death, Jack is mentioned, M/M, There is death, but he's not there, sorry bout that, there's no fluff at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 21:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15980972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The3rdTrumpeteer/pseuds/The3rdTrumpeteer
Summary: Albert and Race thought they would be together forever. For one of them, forever came much too quickly.--From an angst-off I participated in on tumblr.





	Would Your Angels Even Give a Damn

The sun had set by the time Albert pulled into the parking garage. He turned off the engine and grabbed the groceries he had picked up on his way home from work; they were out of milk because  _someone_  named Racetrack Higgins had drunk all of it.

Albert was on the stairs, struggling to haul four plastic bags and his backpack to his and Race’s ninth floor apartment (the elevator was broken again, and his asshole of a boyfriend wasn’t answering his phone), when a man in a black hoodie nearly barreled into him. As it was, Albert fell against the wall and almost dropped everything he was carrying.

“Move it!” Was all the man said before disappearing. Albert swore under his breath and continued the trek up the stairs. Where the fuck did that guy have to get to in such a hurry, anyway?

A few minutes later, Albert finally made it to the fourth floor. He leaned against the wall for a second to catch his breath before walking down the hall. It was quiet, but that wasn’t unusual for how late it was. He was almost to the apartment when Ms. Benson, a nice older woman who lived next door and sometimes brought them some of her famous sugar cookies, opened her door and rushed up to him.

“Hey, Miss B.,” Albert said, but she didn’t return the greeting.

“I heard you coming down the hall,” she said. “It’s okay. I already called the police.”

“Police? What are you talkin’ about?”

“Oh, honey.” Ms. Benson shook her head. “You didn’t know? Didn’t he call you?”

“Who?” Now Albert was getting a little worried.

“Your nice boyfriend. Tony. I heard a gunshot. I don’t know what could have happened.”

Now Albert was a  _lot_  worried. He pushed past Ms. Benson with a quiet apology and rushed toward his apartment. The door was wide open, but he couldn’t see anything beyond it. They had a nightlight in the hallway. Why wasn’t it on?

Albert ran dropped his bags and ran inside, not caring that the milk jug broke and spilled liquid everywhere.

“Race? Where are you?” Why was it so dark? He couldn’t see anything-

There. On the floor. Small droplets of…water? No. Albert couldn’t tell. He followed the droplets until they turned into a small puddle, and then-

“Holy fuck. Race!” Albert sank to his knees next to his boyfriend, who was lying in the middle of the kitchen, his breaths shallow and his white t-shirt stained dark with something Albert refused to think about. “Race, you gotta talk to me.”

Behind Albert came a quiet gasp, and he didn’t even have to turn around to know that Ms. Benson must have followed him.

“The…the police are close, dear,” she said, her voice wobbly. “I can hear the sirens.”

Albert nodded. He leaned closer to Race. “Please,  _please_  talk to me.”

At first there was nothing. Then Race groaned quietly, and his eyelids fluttered.

“Fuckin’…sh-shit,” he whispered. He looked up at Albert with glazed eyes. “I didn’t…I didn’t even see ‘im come in, Albie. And then he w-was just…there. In the hall.”

“Shh, Race.” Albert didn’t know what else to do but grip Race’s hand as tightly as he could and brush his hair from his sweaty forehead. “It’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be okay.”

“I…I don’t think he even knew I-I was home,” Race rambled. “He just…ran at me. Knocked me down. I think I broke the nightlight…sorry ‘bout that.”

Despite the situation, Albert couldn’t help but let out a short, stressed laugh. “It’s fine, Race. That nightlight cost, like, two dollars.”

“I didn’t mean to break it.” Race didn’t seem to have heard him. “But he kn-knocked me down and ran back down the hall. I followed ‘im…shouldn’t’ve. He got me in the living room, Albie.” Race’s voice was even quieter now, if that was possible. “He had a gun.”

Race’s eyes slipped closed again, and this time nothing Albert said could make them open again.

After that, everything was a blur. Albert remembered shouting, probably his own, and then more shouting from the police officers and paramedics. He remembered someone trying to pry his hand from Race’s, and he remembered refusing to let go.

He remembered following the paramedics down the stairs. Why were there so many stairs? Why the  _fuck_ had they decided to live on the ninth floor?

He remembered getting into the ambulance with them. Everyone was still shouting. Race was pale. He wasn’t moving. Was he breathing? Albert couldn’t tell.

He remembered the hours after. They wouldn’t let him past a certain point, only telling him to wait in the lobby and fill out some paperwork and someone would come get him soon. Albert sat in a chair in the waiting room, and he found that he could barely write down any information because his hand was shaking so badly.

At one point, he called Jack after realizing that no one would know yet. He remembered crying on the phone, and Jack telling him to calm down and promising to come right away and bring the others.

He remembered a doctor walking into the waiting area a few minutes–or was it hours?–later and calling for Race’s family. He remembered approaching the doctor before he even realized he had stood up.

And he remembered the news. Internal bleeding. Irreparable. Unconscious. Not much time.

“Can I see him?”

The doctor nodded and led Albert back to a room that was too white, too bright, too full of mechanical beeping to ever mean good news. Race was lying in the bed, looking small among the white, sterile sheets. There was no more red, thank god, but Albert knew what was under the hospital gown. There were tubes trailing under Race’s nose, over his arms…too many tubes. There was an IV in his arm. And there was still that damn beeping. Albert knew what it meant, knew that it meant Race was alive, but he hated it all the same. He hated it because he was afraid it would stop any second.

Albert sat in the hard plastic chair that seemed to exist in every hospital room and took Race’s hand in his own, more gently than he had in the apartment. Race didn’t move.

“I can’t believe this happened,” Albert whispered. “If I had come home a little sooner, if I had…”

Deep down, he knew there was nothing he could have possibly done, and he knew that if Race were awake, he would have told him the same thing.

“You would probably call me an idiot, too,” Albert said with a small smile. He sighed. There were tears in his eyes, and he let them fall. He closed his eyes. “Please…this can’t be how it ends. Not like this.”

Was there even anyone up there, anyone to hear his questions and his pleas? “You can’t let this happen. We were so happy…we  _are_  so happy. We’re both finishing school, we’re living together. Damn it, I was planning to  _propose_ next month on his birthday.”

Albert let out a sob. “If you’re listening, you have to help. You have to help Race. This can’t happen.”

The room was too quiet. The beeping had stopped, leaving only a high drone in its place. Albert looked at Race. His face was paler than Albert had ever seen it. There was no movement under his eyelids. 

“Please!” He begged, shouting into empty air. “Please, just…just take me, not him.”

But the heart monitor maintained its steady tone, and Albert barely noticed as doctors and nurses swarmed around him, trying in vain to revive the man he had loved for six years. It was no use, Albert thought. He closed his eyes again, balled his fist, and tried to keep himself from screaming.

No one was listening.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr: poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow


End file.
